Tag: bipolar disorder II

Crying it out.

Published on by cmglife

I did “Last the day”.

I talked with my dr and he said there is nothing in my medicines or withdrawal off antidepressants that would cause this depression or crying.

“I’m not diminishing your pain,” he said, “but often you have a hard time coping”.

Normally I would have been insulted or felt unheard, but I had already thought of something close to that myself.

Could these tears be grief?

Maybe I just need to cry it all out like I’ve done before.

When I was little I cried for weeks when we moved, when friends moved. Cried for two weeks when I had to put down my dogs, my daughter moved to Wisconsin, my mom died, etc.

Most recently my divorce, the other woman, ostracized by my sister and kept from my grandchildren.

Maybe what I am misinterpreting as depression is actually grief . Maybe this is the way other people handle their emotional pain and I used to because I recognized the event.

So I’m giving it a go. I’ll be crying my eyes out and not questioning it. Sounds like utter hell, I’ll just release the sadness and cry until the tears stop.

I’m all about a plan.

Lasting the Day

Published on by cmglife

Depression is back. I have reasons.

I’m now on depakote. I’m depressed and so weepy. That pathetic crying that I can’t move, tears rolling over my cheeks. I now realize that it is better than a full on noisy shoulders shaking episode. Sometimes they are impossible to hold back.

“Lasting the day” means waiting until tomorrow to call my psychiatrist and ask what to do. He has given me his cell number and I’ve used it.

I’m trying to figure out why I’m waiting. Maybe I have lost hope that another 18 hours will make any difference and it probably won’t. I’m losing hope for any of this.

Be back tomorrow.

URC BD

Published on by cmglife

I’ve had a small glass of wine. I’m resisting the urge to write.

I have Ultra Rapid Cycling Bipolar Disorder. I’m not sure if there is “2” “II” behind it or not for this glamorous sounding disease.

Now, and for the last five days, I’ve taken a dive into the abyss of depression. No, I’m calling it a fall into the abyss of depression, that sounds less deliberate, because I certainly have no control over it.

If you know anything about or suffer from a mood disorder and read my last post, I think it is obvious that I had begun falling in a dramatic way.

I’m much more aware and less likely to fight against admitting defeat these days, so I call my Dr. and get in right away.  There is always a lot of crying on my part and a lot of rifling through my three maybe four-inch-thick file folder on his part.  I think I’ll mention to him next time – it’s time for a binder.

He looks, he thinks, I cry, I tell him what I think is wrong and he comes up with yet another plan. 

I’ve been cycling again, but not at all in a fun way, I’m not getting the pleasant phase. The productive, “Aren’t I amazing? “ and “I love me!” phase. All depressed and irritability. More like angry and pissed off. Either sobbing or berating myself as pathetic. Raw exposed nerves, don’t even talk to me and definitely don’t touch me! I want to be hit by a truck and throw things that aren’t cooperating. I’m not eating either. I cannot even enjoy the lack of appetite and therefore lack of calories because it is a danger sign that I’m getting closer to the edge.

No one knows I’m felling this way because I have way too many responsibilities and way too high standards for myself to drop the mask I have perfected over a lifetime.

So about now you might be thinking, where is all this going? She has definitely not been able to resist the urge to write.

I was resisting the urge to write because I had a small glass of wine.  I know I am not supposed to drink because of my condition, but when I feel this depressed it is the only relief I get until the medicine starts to work.  Luckily, I metabolize medicine very quickly.  That is also a plus for the very small amount of wine I need.  I have been known, a year or so ago and before, to drink a lot every night. And now I don’t. 

Writing my thoughts and feelings in a blog about being diagnosed with such a stigmatized illness was a great outlet for me. I couldn’t tell anyone I knew because of the shame I felt. It took me months before I told my husband. Drinking was the only way to feel anything. The medicine was levelling me out but there was nothing left. Being buzzed wasn’t the same, but at least I didn’t feel dead.

So what’s next for me? Drink and then write again? Today, and with the way I’m feeling, the buzz feels a tiny bit good and writing this feels good. It feels real. It makes me feel like me. The real me that I love. If other people felt this way about me I know they would love me too.

Rock Bottom, Hit

Published on by cmglife

Have you ever been so sad that you can’t move?  Feeling so depressed and rejected that even moving your face to cry is impossible?  Tears just roll down your cheeks? Chest unable to heave?

The feeling of unimportance finally proven to be true?  That all along fighting the thoughts of being unlovable were in vain?

All of those coping skills learned, all of the meds, all of the triumphs to succeed in life against incredible odds fail?

The betrayal so overwhelming and complete that your broken heart can’t move you?

The only way to tell these feelings is in a blog, because telling anyone else just makes you look more pathetic than you already feel?

This is the place I usually insert the last line of hope or whit not to worry anyone that I might finally crack.

This morning sitting comatose on my couch for the first time in my life might just be a step closer.

 

 

 

Crystal Lynn enters, stage left

Published on by cmglife

I said in my last post, first one in a long time, that things were getting better because I’m learning and putting into practice ways to cope.

There is still so much drama in my life it is unbearable at times, like last weekend.  I can’t even write about it because the anxiety still bubbles up and fills me.  I was so depressed it wasn’t looking good for me.  My medicine is working, I know the difference between meds screwing up my mood and other depression caused by rejection, fear, feeling, lonely, confusion and stress.  My narcissist ex-husband the cause of all of it. It was bad.

I was doing that pathetic crying again., Where you don’t make a sound or move and the tears role down your cheeks.  I tried not to give in to it.  I knew I should try all the “tricks”, but I couldn’t even do that.

Sunday morning around 11am it was either this or me.  Dead serious.

So I got into bed, watched reruns of “The Big Bang Theory” and waited.

I’m not sure how long it took or why it started to happen, but I started to come around a little bit.  Nothing like a phoenix rising from the ashes, but clawing out from under the earth and reaching the surface.  Very dramatic, but that is how it was feeling.

Just that little breath of air from the surface began to clear my head.  I meditated for 5 minutes, crying.  I read a little book I have about 50 mindful ways to calm.  And then I remembered, Crystal Lynn.

Crystal Lynn is my alter ego that I developed to stop being so, well, being me.  She doesn’t have a job, sits on her porch all day surrounded by cars on cinder blocks, smokes and does what she wants.

I needed her because she says things like “Who cares?” and “Fuck you!” and “Fuck that”. If she says it enough it feels real, I stop caring and I can breathe a little more. When she’s thinking for me I reach that calmness.  It’s amazing how she can practically soften blood pounding in my head, pain when I breath in and my pounding heart.

In my already delicate mental state, a teen age transgender daughter/son (I’ll tell that story sometime) working two jobs, narcissist ex-husband that despises me…I’ve got to stop writing about it again, my chest is beginning to constrict.

On top of all that…I made my self-crazy with anxiety, because trying to be the best at everything and usually failing I fell into that vicious cycle.

Crystal Lynn doesn’t handle the bigger situations as well, but I cause almost the same symptoms with the little things as well as big things.

Example of a little thing that I made into a big thing:

My son’s college graduation. I knew my ex-husband would be there and then I found out the night before that my ex-in-laws were coming as well. I started trying on outfits, using it as a way to redirect my anxiety (didn’t realize that was what I was doing).  I tried on all my clothes and shoes. Nothing fit because I’ve lost so much weight, but still lumpy in places.  Worrying about where I was going to sit, what time should I arrive, where were they sitting, what if I saw them, what if they were there for pictures…. spinning out of control as usual.

Enter Crystal Lynn,. She said, “Just wear something you will be comfortable in, John knows what you look like and there isn’t anyone else that you have to impress or even cares what you are wearing.”  Now anyone could have already said that before, but it’s a magical feeling to feel it and do it with absolutely no second thoughts, almost as if I came up with it myself!

I think people with anxiety and/or PTSD reactions will totally understand how a small thing, or in my case, all small things connected to John start to get on that endless circle only picking up speed with each pass.

I wore my comfortable outfit that fit. White jeans and black cardigan. At the last minute my dad said he was going with me.  I fought the physical reactions, took half a clonazepam, parking no problem.

We sat with my son’s wife’s family, didn’t look around and I don’t think I was spotted. Took pictures with Tristan.  In laws and John showed up.  I was aloof and took the high road (hate that road).

Thanks, Crystal Lynn, please come again.

This is Going to be a Long One

Published on by cmglife

So much has happened since my divorce was final I am going to start at the end and do sort of a flash back thing until I lose track of which order everything came in.  Please follow along…

The elation and anticipation of being off for the summer was thwarted because I had to ween myself off Pristiq. Withdrawal symptoms have been complete exhaustion, not eating, and brain zaps to name a few.

I planned this withdrawal very carefully.  Two years ago, I stopped taking Abilify because of twitching in my legs.  Two weeks later I fell into a deep depression.  I was put on Seroquel.  Two weeks later, another depression because the dosage wasn’t high enough.

One of the things I am terrible at is judging my state of mind.  I think it goes back to 43 years of coping with my moods alone.  I had to mask them from others and myself.  Not recognizing my last decent into into hell, my therapist and I came up with a 10 point question sheet to ask myself if I’m feeling different.  It makes me feel more secure.

I spoke to Tristan about needing his help if I go into a depression.  I spoke to Allison and told her if this happened she should call Tristan if I couldn’t.

After two weeks of careful planning the withdrawal and doing everything I’m supposed to do I took a dive.  It was more like a crash and burn; I don’t even remember the dive.

Getting Tristan’s help was more stress that help so I called the only sane person I know, my sister.  I started to cry and she said to call my psychiatrist.  I did and he called me back very quickly. My sister had called his office and said it was an emergency.  My Dr asked if I was suicidal because my sister had threatened to call an ambulance. Total overreaction.  Just writing this out makes me feel humiliated.  And I was and am.  What do they say about best laid plans?

The reason I had to stop taking Pristiq is because it was causing “Serotonin Syndrome”.  I had all the classic signs especially the hypo-mania.  I used to look forward to this little gem in my non-medicated un-diagnosed life.  Now it really sucks.  No pleasure from it, just agitation, irritability, poor sleep and all the other bad traits.

I wrote most of this blog the day after the crash.  I must have lost my concentration at the end because I had begun writing in a “stream of consciousness” style.

I wrote about how nobody understands, how I can’t trust anyone to be there, why am I even trying so hard, what is there to live for……

I know that is how I truly felt.  It’s not true today.

It’s just me and Allison now.  I am alone to take care of me.  I have always taken care of Allison on my own, but I’ve always had help for me.

I’m going down another half dose this week, I’ll be brave.

Crushed

Published on by cmglife

Feeling crushed tonight.

Times like these I just really want to give in to my illness and feel sorry for myself.  I don’t feel like being strong and “high functioning”.

Remember my “Stinging Tears” post?  It almost happened again at work today.  I am blessed to be working so closely with a woman who is so like me and then again not.  I need a man like that.

This time she was in the office with me and offered to leave me in there, close the door and shut the blinds.  A little humor goes a long way when your life and emotions feel like they are spiraling down like flushing a toilet bowl.  Not the most eloquent analogy, but for some reason that is the mental image that comes to mind.

I have been doing a little spying.  No, because this blog is all about honesty, A LOT OF SPYING!  I’ve found out through and overheard conversations that someone is not being truthful with me.  In face I feel completely betrayed and revolted by what I have overheard by accident.  It really was by accident.  He was so drunk in the hot tub he didn’t realize how loud he was talking.  I also know he thinks I am a complete moron and couldn’t possibly find his secrets.

The bastard has turned me into an obsessed individual looking for anything I can get my hands on. Rummaging through drawers, digging through paperwork and buying a USB recording device that I either leave casually on the table or placed in my bra.

Because this is so against my nature, I am torturing myself with my own behavior!  What the hell have I turned into?  I know I can’t use this information to help me with the divorce, but I just need to know.

Why do I need to know?  I have been living under a narcissist my whole life,  23 years with my mother and 27 with my husband.  I can never seem to get it through my thick head that I will never feel justified.  I can’t hear another self-affirmation again. I can’t try another “healthy or mature way to take this betrayal” Is taking the high road all that great?  The only person it really helps is the offender.  The victim is still left with feelings of unworthiness.

I want to shred his clothes. I want to key his truck. I want to tell his mother. I want to make him suffer. Even though it doesn’t make me feel better in the moment,  the best punishment for him is for me to outsmart him.

He really shouldn’t underestimate me.  I’m not as dumb as he has always told me I am.

A Serious Discussion

Published on by cmglife2 Comments

Emily and I had a discussion the other day about revealing my Bipolar Disorder II to people. “People” means the people I know. I worry that if they know I have this mood disorder they will view me differently.

My daughter, I believe because of heredity, has a little OCD and General Anxiety. She tells people in her life about it. She thinks it is important to educate about mental illness and she feels that it will make a difference as far as how some people view it.

I have a different tano-more-stigma-10ke on it though. I am afraid to tell even my closest friends about my illness. I am afraid they will misunderstand and think I will strip down naked and run down the street with a knife.  Actually, I hate to admit it, but before I was diagnosed with this disorder, I thought the same thing.

Just like everyone is told by top news stories, the perpetrator of mass murders, etc. are often reported as having a bipolar illness.  The general public sees that and assumes the worst.  Who can blame them?  There are so many variables that are not reported.  Predisposition to violence, access to weapons, psychotic breaks, not medicated, etc.

Writing this blog is the farthest I can go right now.  I feel very protective of my situation. Maybe one day.